Unrequited
by ChemicallyEnhanced
Summary: It hurts loving, sometimes.


Disclaimer: No, sorry.

Ah, I wish I never felt this way back in high school. Oh well.

* * *

"High school relationships are stupid," he mentions again as the two of you walk home together, passing by your classmates as they sit in front of a café holding hands on top of the table. He turns away, tsking under his breath and generally more annoyed than he usually is.

You clench your hand at your side and only laugh, too loudly in your opinion and you hope he doesn't catch the obvious disappointment. "Aha, yeah I guess. They're pretty shallow and superficial, aren't they?"

"Exactly." He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and you have to walk a bit faster to keep up with his long legs. "Plus the idea of love at 17…it's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" And that's all you parrot back, because he would laugh and make fun of you and not want to be friends with you anymore if he knew that you've been so _ridiculously_ in love with him for…three weeks now. It's always been like that, you figure out later. You've always loved him, you just never knew until now.

He makes a noise in reply, and the rest of the walk to his house is quiet, and…steeped in your own distress, but of course, you don't say a word, merely keeping your furiously blushing cheeks to yourself all the way there.

You sit against his bed, in his bedroom, where he _sleeps_ , trying to make it look like you're studying Chemistry and not secretly taking everything in, because, really, when is the next time you'll ever be able to do this?

 _Tomorrow_ , your brain tells you. Well. Shut up. You can't think straight right now and it's all his fault.

He shuffles back into the room with a glass of water and sits down next to you, immediately cracking open one of the hundreds of books scattered around his room.

"Hey, we have that test tomorrow," you remind him, if only to get rid of the unbearable urge to lean into him to read over his shoulder… "You should study for it."

Shrugging, he sighs and turns the page, and you turn back to your textbook, looking over formulas for thermochemistry and re-memorizing them again. Silence prevails for a few minutes, save for the turn of paper pages and the nervous pattering of your heart.

"…Valentine's Day is next week," he suddenly says, and you have to wonder if he said it indifferently like he didn't care at all or if he was secretly hoping that you would buy something for hi—

Right…

"Mm. Really?" You make a show of checking the date on your phone, and yes, today is the 8th, and it's Thursday, so Wednesday would be Valentine's Day. You've only been waiting for the date for a whole month, ever since you realized your feelings for him. "What about it?" Good. Your voice is steady, not as shaky as it is in your mind. You _can't_ let him know that you love him.

He shrugs again, as if it didn't matter to him either way, and sets the book down. "Just…you'll have all those chocolates to eat again for me."

Ah, right. Your plastic smile drops, just a little, at the reminder. He's popular with girls. Right. And he doesn't like sweets, so he makes you take all the chocolates that he receives for him. He doesn't know that, at home, when he can't see you, you pretend that you're the one giving him chocolate and imagining going on dates and holding hands.

You quickly turn away so he doesn't see your face. "Oh yeah? I'll be looking forward to it. Good thing I love chocolate."

"Yeah, that's why you're so fat," he teases, smiling crookedly at you and poking your stomach, where there is, indeed, a small layer of chub. He's endlessly making fun of you for it, but you know he doesn't mean it. Most of the time. The other part of the time, you're so submerged in insecurity that you don't know.

"Agh, stop it!" It doesn't take much for a real smile to form on your lips again, and you laugh behind your hand and you're flushed again, still feeling where he touched you, burning you from the inside out. You bat his hand away. "It's not my fault I always have an endless supply."

"Not as if I asked to be given chocolates, anyhow. I don't care either way."

You laugh, very softly to yourself, and stupidly, idiotically, you feel content just sitting there next to him.

* * *

On Valentine's Day, you can feel the book bumping up against your leg in your bag, taunting you with its implications. You got him a book. A _book._ Because, you reasoned at the time in the bookstore, he likes books. Loves them, really. And it was a newly-published one, so what the heck right? Except now you're embarrassed and there's a constant pink hue smattered across your face at the thought of giving this to him, and of his unapologetic face when he rejects you—it, and of him not being able to look at you quite the same way again.

"Hey," he yawns as he sidles up next to you, matching you step for step as you make your way outside to where you usually eat and imagine what it would be like if he ate with you and you shared each other's food…

"H-hi," you return, inwardly cursing at yourself for stuttering and then not knowing if you actually thought it or not because you can't _think_ when you're with him, especially not right now. Does he look nicer today or is that just your imagination?

He doesn't notice, thank _god_ , only digging into his bag and taking out a _slew_ of chocolates, candies, and cookies, holding them out in front of him. "Here."

Your imagination rewards you with the thought of him giving them to you on White Day, and you smile widely and take them, crinkling the plastic. "Already so many? Jeez, seems you get more popular every year."

"Eh," he replies blandly, throwing his bag over his shoulder again and loping along with you, and you hide another secret smile.

* * *

For the first time since you've met him, you don't think he's ever looked this surprised. Ever. "What?"

You're red, you're trembling, and your heart can't stop _pounding_ , and in a quick moment of insanity, you think you'll have a heart attack before he says anything else. "I…I love you, Senpai. I have f-for over a year, already."

It's right after graduation, when all the parents are congratulating everyone, and they're talking to the teachers and students are ecstatic to know that they're out of that school; and you'd pulled him away from the crowd, into that corner that you two used to eat in. You wanted to tell him, you've wanted to tell him _for so long_ , but you never thought there was a right time, and now that you both are probably going separate ways, you just want to spill all the secret feelings you've kept locked up in your tiny heart.

By now, he's gotten over his shock, and he's gone back to that unreadable facial expression he always wears, the one that, little by little, he's shown less of around you. "Why now?"

Your reasoning is stupid; it is so, so stupid, but you laugh shakily and wring your hands and say, "W-well, you said high school relationships are stupid, and…we graduated so technically we're not in high school anymore. So…yeah. That's all."

"…I don't feel, that way. For you."

And you knew this, you accepted it and knew it _so well_ , but still. Still, those tears that you held back every single time he inadvertently broke your heart finally drip down, and you hold a hand up to your eyes, and you silently cry, because you love him. You've always loved him, and there was always that small hope that he returned even a little bit of your feelings, and it was that tiny hope that kills you now.

"Hey, hey…" he tries, awkward limbs and awkward comfort as he pulls your hand away and uses his sleeve to wipe your tears. It only makes you hurt more, and you feel like you'll faint. "Listen…maybe, maybe not right now."

"..h-huh?" You hiccup, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Maybe not right now," he repeats, letting go of your wrist, hands twitching as though he wants to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. "But maybe later. I'll try."

It isn't any sort of commitment, it isn't a confession, but it's a steadfast promise, and it almost makes you sob again, to hear those words. He'll _try_ loving you, over time, because he's never thought of you in that way before, and maybe this event, this confession, has changed something in his eyes. Maybe he'll finally stop thinking of you as _Ritsu Onodera, best friend_ and start on the path to _Ritsu Onodera, boyfriend._ And you are so, so happy with that thought.

He laughs, awkwardly, because he doesn't laugh all that much and he's trying to diffuse the tension, and he gestures towards the front gate. "Wanna go eat at Pandaway?"

You swipe at your cheeks and give a small, genuine smile, and in the dim light, you think you see his eyes widen, just a bit, but you ignore it and shuffle past him, feeling light-hearted for the first time in months.

Just being with him right now, as his closest friend, is far more happiness than anything you've ever felt.

* * *

A/N: Yeah. I had a crush on someone, and it didn't end up hopeful like this, unfortunately. I think I described accurately how it feels to be with your crush, as his/her friend, not just watching them from a distance and never getting close. Well, at least, that's how I felt, anyways. It was hard.

I know they're OOC. It's an AU, so I don't know. I tried making them in character yet not because I needed to type this out and get it out of my system.

Oh, also, I made Ritsu's realization of him loving Masamune only three weeks because they're in high school, not adults, so three weeks is more accurate than 3+ years. Sorry, Nakamura-sensei. I still love the original storyline, though! Just to make it slightly better, I added in that little bit right afterwards, just to settle some of my…coughcough…fangirl-ish tendencies.

-ChemicallyEnhanced


End file.
